Homecoming
by DarthSukiMomo
Summary: "Heya there, Agent," A smooth, soft voice purred from equally soft lips. That blonde hair, that warm smile, those beautiful blue eyes. "I was wondering when you'd finally get in here. Was starting to think you'd crash in your bed. Wouldn't blame you, with all that's been going on with the crew." Steve Rogers.


When Phil entered the room, he was sure that all the former murmuring had completely ceased. There was absolutely nothing floating in the air, not even the faintest of whispers or the gentle of hushed secrets that one would NOT like to keep upon a battleship nearly several miles off the ground (yet people continued to).

Phil could feel the entire roomful of eyes on him. Had he been by himself, walking into the familiar hall, filled with people, monitors and an uncountable shimmering number of windows (which he always wondered how they were maintained and cleaned), the man was absolutely sure that he would have scuttled out of the room as fast as his polished shoes could let him. Everyone was staring. Phil could feel himself instantly stiffen from the silence, trying to take a small step back out into the small metal hall before a firm hand stopped him.

Beside Phil, Nick Fury seemed more than pleased. He actually had a broad smile on his face (which was scary enough). That alone kept a person from piping up with the inevitable gasp of horror or scream of impossibility. Phil was back in the SHIELD battleship. He was in the control room, standing there with a bemused look on his pale face, eyes quivering in light fear (should anyone have taken the moment to stare more closely upon him).

Phil was supposed to be dead. Only he wasn't. A dead man surely couldn't just stand there like that, and a dead man really couldn't start walking along the catwalk beside Fury to the main controls.

"I hope that everyone here knows who this man is," the leader starts with a gruff wave of his hand, as if he is almost expecting someone to ask who the hell Phil was. But they all knew, without a single doubt in their minds. Sure, Phil looked a little weaker, his arm in a sling, face a few shades whiter than it was normally, but he was still the same man as they all remembered.

And said man looked like he was ready to bolt straight from the room. His lips were twitching, practically forcing a smile to his face, as Fury continued.

The loud, rough voice poked on and on about honor, bravery, and whatever else that he was so sure Phil had shown almost half a year ago. But none of his words made it completely in his head; all the agent wanted to do was sleep. Even months after the attack, he was always so tired and worn, body and shoulder aching each night when he finally lain himself into bed (though the one in the hospital had been so much more comfortable; not that he missed it terribly).

Then Fury went on about the Avengers, and how Phil had been promoted, and something else in there that the man really didn't bother paying attention to. And just when the agent was just about ready to think he would burst in blushing embarrassment from how everyone was just *staring* at him, Fury finally finished. He said one thing more, and then it was suddenly all noise again.

It was as if someone had flipped the switch, and everyone had the ability to speak and whisper, though almost all of it was on Phil. It didn't bother as much as the staring had, and hearing the hushed tones of admiration and happy shock was more than enough to make Phil twitch a smile as he walked back along the catwalk with his boss. It felt...nice. Sure, everyone knew he had returned (for almost a month now), but nobody had actually SEEN him in that time. Everyone, except Maria and Fury, had thought him dead until then.

At least he was welcomed back with open arms.

* * *

Fury had promoted Phil. Everyone knew that without so much as a flick of their heads to see the new and almost odd pin adorning the agent's breast pocket of his suit. They would merely stare him in the eyes and salute, showing as much respect to him as if he himself was the leader of SHIELD. But sometimes people (mainly Tony) seemed keen on looking at it all the time.

It was a small trinket, mere sentiment really that Fury seemed so keen on giving him. A plain purple-colored pin, shaped in the same style as the font they used on ever single folder and paper of the one thing that had taken Phil through years of of joy, annoyance, misery and hope:

The Avengers.

Phil had assumed it was some sort of joke in some sense, SHIELDs idea of a purple heart equivalent, and even then it brought the man ample comfort and warmth. It reminded him of the things he stood and fought for, even in the present, with Fury's supposed 'Promotion' meaning little more than the fact that Phil barely had to do more than paperwork (Sly dog, Fury. Phil had been more than loud to note that his injury didn't pain him much).

It made the man happy.

* * *

With the final bout of introductions done, Phil was sure he could finally walk about the ship without having yet another flabbergasted set of eyes following his back, tainted in silent demand how he was actually walking the halls (a seeming good number of people actually thought they were seeing a ghost; Phil set them straight on it).

It was a peaceful silence as the man stepped down one of the many familiar halls, his feet clicking softly against the metal floor. The smell of grit and cleaner flickered past his nose, as raw and strong as it ever had been. It made Phil smile; it was good to be back, torn shoulder or not. It was warm and familiar, with gentle curves of the walkways and winding paths to almost everywhere. The rooms, the weapons, the people and the secrets; Agent Coulson was overjoyed to be home.

Though it had taken him an extra few minutes to locate his room and office (damn, half a year away was a long time), it did nothing to reproach his joy. The door slid open with a satisfactory hum, letting the man step in with little more than a sweep of his eyes over the room that greeted him. It was all just as it had been before he left. The bed was still pushed to the far wall, a neat blanket pulled tight and wrinkle-less over the top. The dresser next to it was a dark hickory brown, no doubt filled with all of his suits, socks, and such. The rug was flat, the couch and TV untouched (but obviously cleaned). Everything was normal.

"...Good to be back," Phil whispered weakly to himself, adjusting his arm in the navy blue sling with a subtle wince. He was still getting used to and healing from the injury. The agonizing burn that clutched at every nerve and tendon in his shoulder and upper back.

But he didn't bother to think about it again, how the searing misery and blood dripping down from his chest and back was the last thing he managed to recall before blacking out that day. The last thing before waking up almost a week later, in the hospital and overwhelmed with happy news that Loki was indeed beat and gone.

That was all he wanted to dwell on, knowing that, as always, the good guys won and the bad guys lost. That was how it always was, and always would be. Simple and cut.

Phil had to hold in a wince when he bumped into the doorframe, having nearly lost his footing when he tried to take a step forward. Good lord. His vision blurred a slight, and soon he was stumbling merely to get to the bed. He hated the dizzy spells; they were so random, so strong, throwing the man off with their common appearance and powerful ability to send him tripping over his two feet.

He sat down onto the comfortable bedding, letting one hand move up to rub against his face. With the darkness of a hot palm over his face, Phil finally felt the relief of normality again sloshing through his vision. The doctor had said it was a side effect of the pain medication. He told Phil it would last for a long time, as long as it would take the damnable thing to heal (whatever 'magic' that coated the septer caused Phil to heal so incredibly slow, and it was infuriating).

Just one extra reason for Fury to keep him off the main stream of things. It really wasn't something Phil felt he could complain for, as Fury was doing everything to keep Phil working in SHIELD, but sometimes the man simply missed it. The thrill, the activity, the fact that he could look around each day and see something other than the same dark, wood walls of his adjoining office to his room. Paperwork ran his job, paperwork of all the most boric things in the world. No Asgardians. No ARC reactors, no special scientists or people to find. It was nothing anymore. He was a mere desk worker.

Phil sighed and leaned forward, softly adjusting his arm to make sure it wouldn't strain too much from the pressure of the movement. The air of the room was cool, and it nipped at his pale fingers like small pinpricks. But it was honestly the least of Phil's worries; his room had always been nearly freezing, and he liked it that way. It kept the man alert, active, at the top of his game whenever he needed it.

But after the accident….Phil was hardly sure that it would bother much for him any longer. His only job was to fill out papers and read over reports; hardly interesting as he used to do, chasing down monsters and otherwise being the proclaimed badass that everyone always seemed to talk about in hushed tones.

The man slowly pushed himself onto his feet. He was a bit wobbly, and getting horribly tired, but he needed to see his office again. Had anyone changed it? Had they taken any of his things? With Fury overseeing it all, Phil hardly doubted that any of it would so much have been touched by anyone except the cleaning personnel, but it was mere years of paranoia that drove the man to half-limp his way over to the metal door. He peered at it for a moment, and quickly pushed his thumb into the recognition device. It pinged with approval not only a moment later, letting the man into it with a soft swish of the door open.

He stepped in with a slow breath, trying to take in the familiar room with a growing sense of relief. No, there was nothing moved, nothing changed, nothing at all that seemed-

But Phil was quickly stopped in his thoughts as he looked forward. There was someone. Someone sitting. On his desk.  
Smiling right at him.

"Heya there, Agent," A smooth, soft voice purred from equally soft lips. That blonde hair, that warm smile, those beautiful blue eyes. "I was wondering when you'd finally get in here. Was starting to think you'd crash in your bed. Wouldn't blame you, with all that's been going on with the crew."

Steve Rogers.

It made Phil blink, his mind doing a double take. "M-Mr. Rogers?" He asked quickly, obviously confused. He continued to chitter in surprise even when the man pushed himself from the desk (to which Coulson grimly realized that he was wearing his suit, clad in neck to toe in that very suit that Coulson had helped designed. The star on his chest, the patriotic stripes. It was more than enough to make him blush). "Wh-what are you doing here?" He took a slow step back, but Steve was more than quick to reach out the last few feet of distance, and grab firmly to the agent's shoulder (his good one, thank god).

With a nearly curious smirk, the man replied, "…just here to give you your formal coming-back present."

That look on the man's face had Coulson more than fumbling, his cheeks red and his hands unsure what to do. It had been weeks since Steve had been informed of Coulson's health (his TRUE health), and days since the awkward confession had been made…well, quite known that he greatly admired the old war-hero. Phil had assumed that, being innocent as he was, Steve thought little of it.

Apparently he hadn't.

"Uh, wh-what do you mean?" Coulson felt like a frightened deer, backed up until he could feel the cold steel of the doorframe pressing into his body. This certainly was not something he was expecting to come into his office for, and it easily took his mind off it's normal thought-pattern. Rogers smirked again, wider, and pulled Phil close to his warm body. The agent could almost sense the pulse and beat of the other's heart, shuddering when the words he had so dearly desired to hear for quite a many months were slowly whispered into his ear.

"….I'm going to bend you over that desk and take you, Coulson, just like I know you always wanted me to, even before you told me about your little crush."

Oh. Phil's face lit up with redness, his heart rapidly trying to beat its way out of his chest.

_Fuck._

* * *

_...I wrote most of this at work. On my ipod :U Good lord, the things a sexy prompt can do to me__._

_I seriously love Steve/Phil, if it wasn't so little known, I would so be far more into it. Those two are just so cute and hot together, like lskdjfsljkdslfjkd. I cannot control the FEEELS._

_But yes, as it implies there will be a sexy, smutty part two in the works :U So keep an eye out for it_


End file.
